


Guiltier Than Him They Try

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Community: pornish_pixies, Consent Obtained Under False Pretenses, Cross-Generation Relationship, Infidelity, Literary Reference, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Polyjuice Potion, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-25
Updated: 2005-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the cat's away, vice will play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guiltier Than Him They Try

**Author's Note:**

> For the Shakespeare Challenge at Pornish Pixies. It's based on 'Measure for Measure', but you don't need to know the play to get the fic.
> 
> Thanks to Delphi for the fast and fine beta.

O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!  
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?  
Is't not a kind of incest, to take life  
From thine own sister's shame?  
 _-Measure for Measure, act III, sc. I_

 

'What shall I say?' Lucius drawls, and slouches lazily in the great chair in the empty council-room. His long fingers come to rest one by one against his cheek, the middle bearing the Dark Lord's signet ring. 'Our Lord has entrusted me to discharge his laws in his absence. His word could not be more clear — all who swore loyalty to Dumbledore must die — and none would deny that Severus Snape did that. Our Lord's words may not quite have informed his deeds in this matter... but they will certainly inform mine.'

'You're a hard man, Lucius.' Percy Weasley's fists are clenched at his sides. 'You know as well as anyone all Snape's done, all he's given... I don't pretend to know what's between you, but to use our Lord's favour to settle some petty grudge—'

'I have no particular feelings about Severus one way or the other,' Lucius says with an odd smile, looking down to adjust his ring. 'But he should make an excellent example. One does wonder, of course...' —he looks up at Weasley— '...what is between _you_ and the traitor that leads you to risk my anger defending him.'

Weasley's face reddens. From his hiding place behind the greenery, Draco smirks. He knows Percy never had that kind of arrangement with Snape, and perhaps Lucius knows it too.

'It isn't right,' Weasley says doggedly. 'To execute one of our own on some technicality, it isn't right.'

Lucius slowly rises from his seat and approaches the young man, his long and heavy robes hushing against the stone floor with each step. Weasley stands his ground, jaw set.

'You are very _good_ , aren't you,' Lucius says. 'Very _proper_. I think it's time you learned how slight a role propriety truly plays among "our own". Perhaps I could be moved to pardon Severus, with the right incentive...'

He brings his pale right hand to Weasley's red and freckled face, cupping his cheek, rubbing his thumb hard over the cheekbone. Draco fancies that the Dark Lord's ring is cold against Percy's skin. 'How I would enjoy sullying you. _Arthur's son_ ,' he hisses, so faintly that Draco can barely hear.

'You'd betray your wife?' Weasley's voice trembles. 'Our Lord's laws aren't very keen on that either.'

Lucius smiles, and it lights his eyes with a cruelty that runs a shiver up Draco's spine. 'And you'd expect him to take your word over mine? You charm me.'

Percy's lips are pressed together in a hard line. He looks flustered and infuriated, but says nothing.

Lucius pats him on the cheek before turning back to his seat. 'I shall expect you in my chambers tonight. If not, your beloved professor dies at dawn. Good afternoon.'

*

Draco intercepts Percy in the corridor, having to half-run to catch up with his longer strides. His stomach flutters with excitement; this is it, his chance.

'Where's the fire, Weasley?'

Percy glances at him in annoyance and pushes his glasses up his nose, but slows up a bit.

'How are you finding my father as Temporary Dark Lord?' Draco presses on cheerfully, walking briskly beside him. 'Some are already wishing our rightful master would return from whatever faraway business has required his attention...'

Weasley stops short and turns on Draco, nearly treading on his toes. 'But not _you_ , of course. With you, it's whatever Daddy wants, isn't it? Snape was _your_ Head of House, I'd have thought you'd care a little more that he's about to be executed!' He nearly spits that last.

Draco wipes something nonexistent from the corner of his eye. 'I'm not getting myself all worked up about it, no... Not when I hear _you're_ about to secure his pardon.'

A flush comes over Percy's face; his nose wrinkles. 'How could you have already heard—' Realisation dawns. 'You were listening in, you spying little—! The entire time!' Percy turns sharply and walks on, his heels and his voice echoing in the stone hallway. 'If you think I'm going to save Snape's life by— _that_ way— you're as mad as they say.'

Draco darts forward and blocks Percy's way, a hand on his chest. 'And so I am, but not for that. What if I told you there was a way to give my father what he wants and save Snape's life, without your having to... compromise yourself?' He gives Weasley an up-and-down look and a crooked smile.

Weasley straightens, pursing his lips suspiciously. 'What are you suggesting?'

Draco backs off from him, and glances round. He wanders idly over to the large corridor window, squinting against the stark, overcast daylight. 'Well. Say there were someone else who's been wronged by Lucius Malfoy. Someone who was promised great things...' He trails a finger slowly down along the rough stones of the window's edge. '...someone who's now been cast aside, as though he weren't flesh and blood. Perhaps such a one would be willing to take your place, and be gone before the substitution was known. It would take only a bit of magic to make an effective disguise...'

He looks sidelong at Weasley, who has gone pale and is standing quite still.

'You're not serious.'

'But I am,' Draco says, pushing off the window-sill and coming towards Weasley again, his step slightly off-balance. 'My father's every dismissal, blow, harsh word — these things are like stones in the riverbed. Far from damming the current, they make it run even more violently than before.' This last becomes a whisper in Draco's throat as he comes close, his fingers toying with the edge of Percy's robes.

Percy doesn't back away. He swallows slowly; Draco watches with curious fascination as his large Adam's apple bobs. 'Polyjuice takes weeks to make,' he says finally, his voice hoarse.

'So it does,' Draco says, fumbling down into his own pockets. 'But there are half-made specimens to be had if one knows where.' He pulls out the heavy glass phial and brandishes it under Weasley's nose. 'All that's needed now is...' He trails off, reaching up to run his fingers through the always-rumpled red hair, gazing up hungrily.

Percy flinches, jerking his head away.

Draco withdraws his hand, smiling. 'Well. At the moment, you and Professor Snape have nothing to lose. But if you'd rather not gain anything either, I reckon I'll see you at the execution.' He turns, nudging his robes so that they sweep out behind him, and walks off. He's not gone ten steps before:

'Malfoy! Wait—'

Draco smiles, rolls his eyes, and turns.

*

The rising full moon shines through the open window of Draco's chambers. He stands naked in front of the mirror, running his eyes over his pale skin marked here and there— a mole beside his navel. Faint pock-marks on his shoulders. And the green wood-grained skull indented into his forearm.

He raises his arms to cross behind his head, watching how the skin stretches over his rib cage, over his sharp hip-bones. He twists his pelvis back and forth, taking pleasure in the way his stiffening cock moves, brushing first one thigh, then the other.

This is his father's body in every way — it is his creation, his property, himself. Draco has looked at photographs of his father in school, and they could have been twins. This is what he thinks of when he touches himself: He is Lucius at school, masturbating in secret; or he is Lucius older and at home, taking what is his in Draco's childhood bedroom ( _No, Daddy, no,_ Draco would purr to himself as he wanked, gripping the edge of the mattress).

The glass phial sits smoking faintly on the bureau beside the mirror. Draco sighs, letting his arms drop. This is not what he'd wanted. But with subtler seductions failing, and a presented opportunity, well...

Let it not be said that Draco isn't an opportunist.

The clock tower chimes two. Draco retrieves Percy Weasley's hair from the jar where he's kept it and drops a strand into the blank Polyjuice. The potion bubbles and writhes — torturedly, as though resisting the transformation — and finally turns a violent, medicinal red.

Draco takes the phial with a smirk. He sniffs at it and pulls a face; it smells of rotting meat. Looking back to the mirror, he pinches his nose shut delicately, and drinks.

When the last of it is drained, the vessel slips from his fingers and cracks on the floor; he gags, clutching at his throat and grasping the side of the mirror, forcing himself to look into the glass as the potion begins to take its effect. He feels the bones of his legs and arms stretching, making him taller... his muscles shifting everywhere like insects underneath his skin. He watches in wonder as his penis broadens slightly, and as his newly-reddish pubic hair spreads in a trail up to his navel. His skin changes last, darkening and sprouting a thousand freckles.

Only the Dark Mark fails to change — as though only it is true, and his false flesh changes around it.

Draco stands up straight, breathing hard. He blinks, then rubs his eyes, trying to clear his vision, but it won't unblur. It takes him a moment to remember the eyeglasses in the bag with Weasley's clothing.

He smiles at that. No one will be seeing clearly tonight.

*

Draco straightens his starch-pressed shirt one more time, clears his throat, and knocks softly at his father's chambers. A murmured charm from within draws open the creaking door.

Lucius is at his writing-desk, working out some figures on a tablet. He is wearing his reading-glasses; he doesn't look up.

'Mr Weasley,' he says in faint surprise. 'I wasn't entirely certain you would turn up.'

'You didn't leave me much of a choice,' Draco says, enjoying the slightly lower rumble of the voice in his throat. His heart is beating hard — in excitement, not fear — and it's an effort to maintain Percy's dour frown. 'You know why I'm here. Snape's life.'

Lucius sends his quill to its shelf with a flick of his wrist, and takes off his spectacles, folding them away into a breast pocket. 'Yes, of course. Please me well, and to pardon him will be a trifle.' He stands, and gestures to the bed-chamber with an open hand.

It takes all of Draco's dramatic skill to muster a look of distaste. 'Yes, my Lord,' he says sullenly, and goes in, mimicking Weasley's brisk, efficient strides.

'I've long thought of this, my boy,' Lucius says as he shuts the door behind them, and goes round to draw the curtains. 'Do make yourself comfortable.' (Draco sits down stiffly on the bed.) 'You are not beautiful, of course, but looking on you reminds me of your father's pain. And that, I do enjoy. Remove your shoes and cloak, won't you?' (Draco tries not to seem eager.) 'It would not have been difficult to take you by force, but as always it is the _willing_ betrayal that pains a father. To make you into a noble victim wins me nothing. Do you understand?'

He turns, and Draco nods mutely, setting his mouth into a hard line. Lucius takes the glasses from his face, and places them on the bed-table. Draco blinks, still unused to the fuzzy vision.

'Now,' Lucius says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile, 'think of your dear old professor, and do what you will.'

After again affecting hesitation, Draco stands. He steps forward and kisses his father on the mouth.

Lucius makes a little hum of surprise, as though he hadn't expected this first, and unknowingly embraces his son, the sleeves of his velvet robes rustling in the quiet. His lips part, and it is all Draco can do not to seize him, to rut against him, to beg to be taken. Instead he kisses with reluctant chastity, as he imagines Weasley might have done with his very proper Prefect girlfriend — but privately delighting in the roughness of the skin below his father's lip, in the taste of his tongue.

Lucius's hands run down Draco's back to feel his arse (just as he's always wished), and Draco fumbles to unbutton his shirt, still not breaking the kiss. He shrugs out of it, and then finally pulls away, dropping down onto the bed and scooting back to the headboard. Lucius's sheets are soft and cool and clean — nicer than his own, he can't help thinking.

As Draco squirms out of his trousers, he watches Lucius's long fingers undo the clasps of his cloak and hang the garment fastidiously — almost ceremoniously — on the bedpost. The rest of his robes are shed more quickly, revealing those slender arms, sharp hip-bones, miles of white skin — everything Draco sees in the mirror. And his _cock_ , stiff and broad and reddening. Draco has seen glimpses of his father's cock before, in childhood (coming out of the bedroom naked not realising Draco is there, his penis limp but so much _bigger_ than Draco's), but never this.

Lucius gets onto the bed and slides up beside him, and Draco looks back and forth from his stiffly bobbing cock to his heavy-lidded eyes, wanting to drink in both at once.

'If Arthur could see you now,' Lucius purrs, trailing his hand (bearing the Dark Lord's ring, still) up Draco's freckled thigh. 'Wanting me.' He brushes the side of one finger against Draco's full erection, and Draco jerks — hadn't even thought about how hard he was. Lucius chuckles and lightly pinches Draco's bollocks — he jumps again. 'What you have here with us is no comparison to anything your father could give you, is it?'

To Draco's annoyance, Lucius's fantasy is throwing him slightly out of his own, so with a furrowed brow that he thinks is fairly in-character, he moves down the bed and onto his knees.

Lucius lies back and spreads his legs with a pleased smile. 'Yes,' he says. He brings down one hand to wrap around the base of his dick. 'You need to suck my cock, don't you.'

Hearing his father say that— A jolt of pleasure arches Draco's back. He nods, his mouth suddenly dry.

'I'd like to hear it from you.'

Draco swallows, his heart in his throat. 'I need to suck your cock,' he says, and clenches his teeth to keep himself from adding _Daddy_.

'Then I suppose you had better,' Lucius murmurs, a merry glint in his eye.

Draco's head is swimming — he hardly knows where to start. He gets down on his stomach, touches Lucius's inner thighs, feels the sparse, wiry hair there. Percy's hands are larger, longer than his own. He feels the ridges of his father's purpling bollocks, holding his breath when Lucius's hips shift a little under his touch. There is nothing more to do, nothing more to wait for, and finally, finally, Draco sucks his father's cock.

The head of it tastes like pure salt, and Draco hadn't expected that; his throat tightens in a half-choke, and above him Lucius hums a laugh. Draco shivers, and lets his mouth slide down the side, working his tongue to make more spit. He feels the veins under his lips, the strained fullness beneath the delicate reddish skin. His chin bumps Lucius's hand, and he has to clutch his father's thighs tightly to resist the urge to touch himself. As it is, he _can't_ keep from rubbing his dick against his father's soft, cool bed sheets, and hopes Lucius doesn't notice.

'Yes, that's a good boy,' Lucius sighs, running his hand through Draco's— Percy's hair (more wiry, more rumpled than Draco's own).

Draco moves back up to the head and tongues around his father's foreskin and the tiny slit at the tip. It tastes like — the only thing he can think of is seawater, like accidentally swallowing when he's swimming in the sea. He grasps the shaft — Percy's hands are too big, but when Draco shuts his eyes he can see a smaller, paler hand there — and tries to see how deep he can take it. Just a few inches before he gags, but he sucks insistently, and Lucius's hand is rubbing the back of his neck.

Lucius's hips roll, and he hisses _Yes_ and then _Ah_ , and his grip on Draco's neck tightens. 'Stop,' he breathes. 'Not yet.'

And Draco pulls off, gasping for breath, his face hot. He swallows hard and sits back on his heels. What next?

Lucius sits up too, also breathless, and snaps his fingers. A jar floats from a far shelf into his hand. 'You're going to come for me first,' he says, slowly twisting off the lid and never breaking eye contact. 'You'll come while I'm taking you.'

'Y-yes,' Draco says, choking back a moan. Still trying not to show his eagerness, he crawls up to the headboard and lies back.

Lucius pulls a pillow out from under the sheets; Draco raises his hips. Lucius and Narcissa must like their pillows soft — he has to fold it in half to do any good. Draco wriggles a bit, rubbing his arse against the soft cotton and spreading his legs (god, his dick is so hard, so tight, he can hardly bear it). He shuts his eyes tight, once more playing at reluctance ( _no, Daddy, please_ ).

He feels Lucius's weight shifting towards him on the mattress... then Lucius's hand, slick and cold between his thighs. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. 'You would do better to relax,' Lucius purrs, one finger sliding over Draco's arsehole. 'To hurt you would be of little interest to me.'

Draco's eyes flutter open with a play-acting look of fear — and a genuine gasp at the sight of his father kneeling naked between his legs, stroking slick lubricant onto his own cock.

And with a lazy, regal smile, Lucius shifts forward, and presses the head up against Draco's arse. When he pushes in, Draco's back arches — he bites his knuckles, eyes tight shut again. 'Oh god,' he moans breathlessly as Lucius's cock (the taste of which still lingers in his mouth) goes further, deeper, all the way in. 'Yes, please, please,' he babbles as his father starts to fuck him, thrust after thrust, all pretense for the moment forgotten. 'Oh, no— no— Daddy, please—!'

'Your daddy can't help you anymore,' Lucius growls, lost in his own fantasy, his hair falling across his face. 'You're mine now. Come— come for me—'

Draco's hand flies to his dick, but no, Lucius's hand is already there, gripping him, palm rubbing hard against the underside of his son's cock as he fucks him. Draco doesn't know what he's saying anymore, this is it, this is everything, this is all he's ever wanted, and it can't last— he can't last—

His head jerks back and he comes in his father's hand with a strangled moan, spurting over his own belly and chest. Some tiny detached part of himself muses that he could stay like this forever, lost and coming in his father's arms, and never be unhappy again.

Just as he's starting to drift down, Lucius shoves into him so hard Draco yelps in pain and surprise. Lucius holds himself there, just one more hard thrust as he comes— arms and chest tensed, tendons of his neck peaked, eyes shut and lips parted as he lets out a ragged groan. Draco stares and stares, trying dizzily to burn the image of his father's orgasm into his brain.

When Lucius is finished, he nearly collapses onto Draco's belly, bracing himself on his elbows. Draco shuts his eyes, savouring the weight of his father's body, the feel of his sweat-sticky skin, his heavy breathing against Draco's shoulder. Draco pulls the pillow out from beneath his hips with some effort, and lets it fall to the floor.

The clock tower tolls three.

A warm smile spreads across Draco's face. He can feel himself starting to change, the now-familiar shift of muscle and bone. Lucius first makes a sound of sleepy puzzlement, then pushes himself up onto his hands, and lets out a shout. He shoves away and scrambles to the other side of the bed, staring at Draco.

This is much different from the first change. Then, he stretched into a form not his own; now, his flesh relaxes back into its accustomed shape, and he feels all tension drain from his arms and legs — a second release — relief at becoming Lucius's son again.

He watches Lucius all the while, and just as Draco's vision clears there is a delicious moment of horrified comprehension that twists his father's face from startlement into open horror.

When the transformation is complete, Draco pushes himself up to a sitting position, now even more lightheaded than before. He turns his arms over, inspecting his once-more pale skin. 'I say,' he drawls faintly, 'I wouldn't care to have those spots on me all the time.'

'Draco—!' Lucius splutters. 'You— How could you—!'

'It was surprisingly easy,' Draco says, crawling on all fours towards his father. 'I've learnt from some of the most cunning minds in England.' He leans in for a kiss, and Lucius jumps up, banging his head on the curtain-frame.

'You'll hang for this,' he hisses, hurriedly dressing himself. 'You— and Weasley— and Snape!'

'Now, how can you say that, father?' Draco asks, lolling back over the edge of the bed so that he's looking at Lucius upside-down. 'You got what you wanted. We _all_ got what we wanted, didn't we?'

'I was right not to give you a place beside the Dark Lord,' Lucius says, fastening his cloak about himself and looking as though he wants to be sick. 'You _are_ mad, you've been mad since the war, I just never wanted to believe it. You'll hang,' he says again, throwing open the bedroom door and looking back with eyes flashing fiercely, hair wildly dishevelled. 'You'll _hang_.'

The door slams.

With a chuckle, Draco rolls over and sprawls across the bed, comfortable and happy back in his own skin. (His father's skin, even.) What does it matter if he hangs? Let him hang — let them all hang.

Draco knows his father loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,  
> May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two  
> Guiltier than him they try.


End file.
